Larceny at the Library

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Larceny at the Library Page 12

by Colleen Shogan

“Okay. Lisa seems really great. They brought over pizza for dinner.”

  Meg interrupted. “From where?” Leave it to Meg and her penchant for foodie details.

  “Pupatella.”

  “Oooh!” Meg’s eyes almost turned green with envy. “I heard it’s delicious.”

  “It was. We talked about the murder. Lisa said that the police are working with federal investigators. They seem to think a professional art thief is behind the crimes.”

  Meg frowned. “Who just happened to know the contents of Lincoln’s pockets were being shown to a small group of people that evening?”

  “They seem to think the thief might have an accomplice who works at the Library of Congress or has an affiliation with it.”

  “I suppose it’s possible. Where does that leave the investigation?”

  “They’re going to focus on trying to see if the stolen items show up for sale underground. If so, the investigators can trace the goods back to the seller.”

  Meg grimaced. “That’ll take forever. If I just stole precious treasures from the Library of Congress, the last thing I’m going to do is to try to sell them immediately. I’d wait for a while, until the trail goes cold.”

  “I agree, Meg,” I said. “In the meantime, the crimes go unsolved. Did you overhear my conversation with Kyle?”

  “There’s no conversation I don’t overhear, Kit.” She motioned toward her pseudo wall, which was only six feet tall.

  “Then you know that our boss has some serious skin in the game, too.”

  “What’s your next move?” asked Meg.

  Just as I was about to answer, Patsy interrupted us. She must have something important to say. Patsy rarely left her desk outside Dixon’s office.

  “Maeve was able to secure an appointment with Henry Chang,” she said. “But you need to head over to his office now. He has a tight window before other commitments. I’ve emailed you his office location.”

  “Got it,” I said. “Meg, we’ll have to catch up later. I’ll text you.”

  “Good luck, Kit,” said Meg as I grabbed my purse and dashed out our office suite. Patsy’s email said that Representative Henry Chang’s office was located on the fourth floor of the Longworth Building. It was a typical freshman office, far away from the action. Ten minutes later, I arrived at the correct location, opened the glass door, and walked inside.

  Members of Congress have considerable latitude concerning their office decorations. Most elected legislators choose to highlight the districts they represent. They hang framed posters featuring tourist attractions or scenic highlights. Others, who might be considered more self-promotional, displayed photographs of themselves with other important people. Many offices choose a mix between the two or even combine them. For example, an image of the member of Congress hiking a section of the Appalachian Trail in her district would be a perfect addition to the office decor.

  Representative Henry Chang had taken a much different approach. His small waiting area was completely decked out with facsimile images featuring famous documents, photographs, and artifacts in American history. He had the Declaration of Independence, the Gettysburg Address, the Bill of Rights, Civil War tintype portraits, political cartoons, noteworthy newspaper headlines, and Revolutionary War maps. To his credit, Henry Chang appeared not to care much about himself. There was not one picture of him, his family, or even his dog. Instead, I felt as if I’d walked into a miniature museum. Even though nothing was authentic, the message was quite clear. Henry Chang cared a great deal about American history, and he chose to surround himself with it as much as humanly possible.

  The young staff assistant behind the desk smiled. “Welcome to Congressman Chang’s office. Can I help you?”

  I explained who I was and that Chairwoman Maeve Dixon (it was always good to use her official title in these circumstances) had called for an appointment.

  “Yes, our chief of staff explained you’d stop by. Please have a seat,” he said in a friendly tone. “Or feel free to peruse our collection of American memorabilia.” He waved his arm across the expanse of the waiting area, almost like Vanna White revealing a correct letter on “Wheel of Fortune.”

  “Thank you,” I said in my most polite voice. “It’s quite a display. Very different from other House of Representative office suites.”

  “Certainly,” said the staff assistant eagerly. He leaned forward in his chair and ignored the buzz indicating he had a phone call. “Representative Chang is a big fan of American historical artifacts. He can’t get enough of it.”

  No kidding. That’s why I’m here. The question is whether he’d kill for it.

  The staff assistant was awfully chatty. Maybe he could serve as a source of information. “Why does Congressman Chang have such a fascination with history?” I asked innocently.

  “It’s his passion,” said my verbose friend. “He’s a politician these days, but I think he wished he’d become a historian or curator.”

  “Being in politics is an odd alternative to choose,” I said, almost under my breath.

  The staff assistant must have heard me. “I think Representative Chang decided he wanted to become part of history. So he ran for Congress.”

  He’ll get his wish if he was responsible for one of the most infamous heists in American history.

  The staff assistant turned his attention back to his computer. “Oh, you can go back now.” He pointed toward the door that led to the office area.

  “Thank you. This conversation has been. . .” I paused for a beat to choose the right word. “Illuminating.”

  My young friend beamed. It wasn’t every day he received such high praise; his job was pretty much a “no-thanks” gig. In other words, he received a lot of the blame and none of the credit.

  After I opened the door to the suite, I realized the front-desk guy hadn’t told me which way to turn for Chang’s office. In a flash, a slim Asian woman was at my side. “Are you Kit Marshall?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “That’s been my name for my entire life.”

  She didn’t laugh at my humorous overture. “Right this way.” She walked swiftly down the short hallway and opened the door to Representative Chang’s private office.

  Given what I’d just seen inside his foyer, I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Every wall of Chang’s office boasted framed posters or other historical memorabilia. I couldn’t examine everything with a magnifying glass, but I had the distinct feeling this display included items from the Congressman’s private collection. While facsimiles adorned the waiting area, his inner sanctum boasted the real McCoy.

  Representative Chang was seated behind his stately oak desk. He rose and offered his hand, although he avoided direct eye contact. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Ms. Marshall, I understand Chairwoman Dixon asked us to meet.” He sat back down in his chair and motioned for me to sit opposite him. “Briefly, that is.”

  I suppressed an audible sigh. What a peach I’d picked off the tree.

  “Thank you, Congressman. I cannot tell you how much Chairwoman Dixon appreciates your cooperation in this matter.” I could feel the rigidness in my upper body intensifying. This conversation was already reminiscent of a post-Halloween visit to the dentist.

  Chang reclined in his chair and folded his hands in a triangle. “I’m waiting, Ms. Marshall. What would you like to talk about?”

  No sense in beating around the bush. “I’m here to speak to you about the murder of Gustav Gaffney.”

  “Are you referencing the crime at the Library of Congress?”

  “Yes. Gustav Gaffney was the Assistant Librarian, and he was murdered on Tuesday evening. Not long after our viewing inside the Librarian’s ceremonial office.”

  Chang shook his head slowly. “A terrible tragedy. The items from the Lincoln assassination are priceless.” He added. “And of course, the
death of a Library of Congress employee.”

  “Where did you go after the preview ended?” I was pretty sure Chang was at the Library when I left to go to dinner with Sebastian and Meg. The last I remembered, Janice Jackson had scuttled off to find his coat.

  “I chatted with the rare books curator for a while,” said Chang.

  “You mean Gordon Endicott.”

  “I think that was his name. I’ve spoken with him before at previous events.”

  “Then what did you do?” I prodded.

  “As I recall, Gaffney put the items back in the safe and secured it,” he said. “At that point, it was evident the evening had concluded. I put on my coat and came back here to work for a few more hours.”

  “Burning the midnight oil?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.

  “We’re in session this week for a reason, Ms. Marshall,” he said curtly. “As I’m sure you know, Congress is usually adjourned this week to celebrate President’s Day. But the Speaker of the House canceled the recess so we could work on several important bills.”

  Chang was right. It was unusual for Congress to work in Washington, D.C. this holiday week. It was probably why the Library of Congress decided to make such a big deal of the Lincoln treasures. It wasn’t often that members of Congress were in town during the week of the President’s Day holiday.

  “Were you alone, or was your staff also working late?” I asked.

  “I don’t require my staff to remain at the office with me after hours,” he said. “When I’m here by myself, I accomplish much more.”

  Chang didn’t have an alibi. He could have easily put on his coat as if he was leaving, hid in the shadows of the Jefferson Building, waited for everyone to leave, and committed the crime.

  The Congressman’s phone buzzed. He raised his finger in the air to indicate he needed to take the call. After picking up the receiver, he said, “I understand, Daphne. I will be right out.”

  Chang stood. “Ms. Marshall, I’m afraid I have an important guest from my district who asked to speak with me personally. We’ll have to end our meeting early.”

  I didn’t budge. I had more questions for Chang and something told me I needed to take advantage of the situation and ask them. After all, the police were hesitant to treat him as a suspect. If he was involved in the murder and theft, it would be up to me to figure it out.

  “I’m not in a big rush this morning,” I said. “I’m happy to wait.”

  Chang folded his arms across his chest. “Perhaps it would be better if we rescheduled.”

  “I’ll have to tell Chairwoman Dixon, if that’s the case. I’m keeping her informed about the investigation. She’ll want to know why we didn’t finish our conversation.” I tapped my foot while waiting for his response.

  Chang stared at me for several moments as he weighed his options. “Very well, then. I will return in a few minutes.” He dashed out of the office and closed the door behind him.

  Whew. Sometimes it paid to be stubborn. I looked around Chang’s office. Everything was as neat as a pin. My gaze drifted to his stately desk. I glanced back at the door. How long would it take to greet a needy constituent? From experience, it really depended on the level of neediness. I gulped, got up from my chair, and walked to the other side of the desk.

  There wasn’t much on the top of his desk besides his computer monitor, a daily American history calendar with a “fun fact” for each date, and exactly three pens. I’d have to try a drawer. I could hear Chang’s voice outside the office, obviously in the throes of glad-handing his VIP visitor.

  As carefully as possible so not to cause any noise, I opened the top drawer of the desk. Much like the surface of his desk, everything inside the drawer was in its proper place. A stapler, post-it notes, paper clips, and a small pad of paper were lined up perfectly next to each other. I was about to close the drawer when I noticed a business card wedged between the package of post-its and the box of paper clips. The voices outside the office seemed reasonably far away, so I grabbed the card and turned it over. It was a card for a dealer specializing in rare books, manuscripts, letter, and other historical memorabilia.

  All of a sudden, I heard footsteps approaching. I slammed the drawer shut and in three swift steps, I was seated across the desk again. The problem was that I had the business card in my hand as the door opened. I shoved it inside my purse just as Henry Chang walked in.

  If he thought I’d left my seat when he was gone, he didn’t show it. He strode to his desk and sat down again. “Thank you for waiting, Ms. Marshall. Shall we resume our conversation?”

  “Yes,” I croaked. That had been too close for comfort. It was one thing to ask questions of a member of Congress under the orders of a committee chair. It was another altogether to get caught snooping inside the personal belongings of an elected official.

  He tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk. “I’m waiting.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Let’s go back to Tuesday night at the Library of Congress. Why did you attend the event that evening instead of the V-I-P event that was scheduled the next day?”

  “Two reasons, Ms. Marshall,” he said. “First, I had a constituent breakfast which conflicted. Yes, I could have rescheduled it, but voters tend not to like it when you cancel meetings with them in Washington.” He took a deep breath. “Second, I knew the event on Tuesday night would have fewer people in attendance. It was a better opportunity to see the contents of Lincoln’s pockets up close. If I had come to the congressional event, I would have been one of many members of Congress in attendance. Tuesday night was much more preferable.”

  “How did you know about it?” I asked.

  “Janice Jackson told me,” he said immediately. “She knew I wouldn’t want to miss the display and that I’d prefer the lower key event.”

  “Did she also tell you that Gustav Gaffney’s fingerprints opened the safe?”

  “You mean which fingerprints were linked to the safe’s biometrics?” he repeated.

  “Yes. Were you aware that Gaffney’s prints were only one of two sets that could be used to gain access to it?”

  “She might have mentioned it to me,” said Chang, rubbing his chin. “I can’t be sure. Janice provides me with copious amounts of information about the Library of Congress.”

  “And that’s because you ask a lot questions, right?”

  Chang threw his shoulders back, straightening in his chair. “As you can probably figure out, I thoroughly enjoy American history.” His arm swept around the room.

  “It’s impressive. Are these items originals?” I asked.

  “Some are,” he said. He gestured to a framed poster to his right. “For example, this lithograph of Abraham Lincoln’s 1861 inauguration is authentic.”

  It featured small portraits of each president from George Washington through Lincoln in an oval circle. “How did you acquire it?” I asked.

  “Here and there, Ms. Marshall. I’m acquainted with quite a few sellers. I know when a good deal comes on the market.”

  That likely explained the business card I found in the drawer. It certainly reinforced the notion that Henry Chang would have the connections to unload rare items, perhaps even stolen ones.

  I couldn’t think of any more questions to ask, so I stood up to leave and extended my hand. “You’ve been generous with your time. I will be sure to tell my boss.”

  Chang exhaled. “I would appreciate that. Most members of Congress don’t actively seek service on Chairwoman Dixon’s committee. But I did.”

  “Because the committee oversees federal cultural institutions.”

  Chang nodded. “Given my interest in antiquities, I knew it would be a good fit.”

  “My colleague tells me you attend every event,” I said.

  His eyes gleamed. “Absolutely. You can ask Chairwoman Dixon. I’m a very consci
entious member of the committee.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her about your. . .” I stammered before my brain found the right word. “Enthusiasm.”

  After leaving the suite, I checked my phone. It was quarter to eleven. There was no time to return to the Dixon office before heading over to the Library of Congress for my appointment with Joe Malden. As I weaved through the hallways, I considered my conversation with Congressman Chang. Meg’s observation was accurate; he was definitely an odd duck. He seemed to care more about history and collectibles than about politics and policy. He certainly had the connections in that world to make a heist plausible. But something didn’t add up. Why would Chang want to steal the contents of Lincoln’s pockets? If he was guilty of anything, it was caring too much about history. He didn’t seem like the type who would want such an important piece of Americana to fall into the wrong hands. However, it was possible that he stole the items so he could possess them as part of his own collection. I could picture Chang taking great delight in keeping it in some top-secret location where he could indulge himself in private viewings anytime he wanted.

  I was so deep in thought, I almost collided with Sergeant O’Halloran inside the tunnel linking the Library of Congress to the Cannon House Office Building.

  “Ms. Marshall, you should watch where you’re going,” said O’Halloran as he gracefully sidestepped me. I noticed the buttons on his white dress shirt were straining. Maybe walking back and forth underground to the Library of Congress would be good exercise for him.

  “I apologize. But I had a good reason for my preoccupation. I was thinking about the conversation I just had with Representative Henry Chang.”

  O’Halloran raised both his eyebrows. “You decided he was worth the political risk.”

  “It was less risky than you might think. Remember, Chang is on a committee chaired by my boss. He’s pretty eager to keep her happy with him.”

  “So, did you find anything out?” O’Halloran took two steps closer to me. I could tell he was eager to know whether Chang could be a suspect.

  I explained to him that Chang had no alibi and certainly had the connections to move stolen high-priced items. But it didn’t necessarily jive with his obvious reverence for American history.

 

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